Paris impressions – Section A

Our European Trip + 96 Random Thoughts – Part 2

Paris impressions – Section A

1.     People are nice. “Sooosie Sooosie Soooososie you dumb American” with a scowl and a spit was what I expected the average Parisian would be like. Fortunately, I have been brought up to keep an open mind and what I found was a warm, friendly and oft-smiling people. Laughter was heard on every block. A simple “bonjour” in my wife’s high school French triggered an understanding and helpfulness, check that, an eagerness to help no matter where we were. Everywhere we went, except for the fighting lesbian bistro owners, people were happy to help and laugh. Maybe that's why the French still like Jerry Lewis, simple pratfalls and the contagiousness of laughter. The pace of life is one in where a person must stop, observe, laugh and experience every moment. They love when you attempt speaking French. I used to think ‘merci’ meant ‘thank you’. I was wrong. Merci means a cab driver can keep the change. That language lesson cost me about 20€.

Adelle takes us for a ride! We could stand up the whole time! Our first Parisian :)

2.     Things are expensive. The reason the French government subsidizes the people is because the French can't afford France. Citizenry are given vouchers to restaurants and cafes because they couldn't afford to stay open with such prices (I didn't make this up, I'm not that good.). Paris is a tourist city with lots of visiting Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese and any other Asian nations people that rhyme with cheese. They seemingly have an infinite amount of cash. For the rest of us, a cappuccino is an expensive 8.50€ which is $12.73. Perrier is $5 a bottle and they fizz it right there. I saw multiple 67,000€ watches, and these dudes don't flinch. So just be forewarned and remember rule 1, it's worth every euro or franc, the French were a blast.

Seamus enjoys breakfast for a million franc...it was slightly less.

3.     Evenings are a touch formal. Khakis and a white shirt is low on the acceptable dress code. You can wear down filled hi-tops that are black, or a neon color, with nice clothes because that actually drops you down below the jeans line. It also makes you German. That being said, an evening in Paris must be a stylish one. Armani suits, custom tailored shirts and French cuffs with a woman or man up to 30 years your junior. Every outfit is perfectly tailored and many men wore no socks. Since I haven’t worn socks since 1980, I realize I have been Parisian all this time and didn't know it. I could get used to the look, but there is no way I can wear a scarf. Even in subzero weather it's like I'm allergic. Men shouldn't wear scarves with a sport coat, even if your name is Pierre or Fabio. Just no.
 

4.     French women are beautiful. Everything about them is soft and less than a size 6. Actually, everyone in Paris is skinny. I think they were nice to me because they were concerned I might sit on them and squash them into truffle oil. Back to the point, they can absolutely rock a skirt. Regardless of the length, pencil or pleated, skirt length was always just right. Young, old, in between, confused age, it didn't matter. I realized mademoiselles must have a class on this in third grade thru high school. Parisian women are confidently Franco fashion forward. Sophisticated, sexy, done to perfection. If a woman shows cleavage then Madame Chic won't show leg or vice-versa. Undergarments do not support but are really sexy (please, gravity is a law of nature, observing nature is unavoidable). I can't remember ever thinking soft and sexy but I have an idea now. Underwear serves no other purpose but to tease, and there must have been three lingerie stores per block. It was just goofy and impossible not to notice, plus I'm a guy, as if I would miss those window displays. This is why I have a cadre of friends who still pine for Catherine Deneuve.

Helmut Newton took this picture of guess who, but that is like every Parisian woman only different. I wish I took this picture, I also want to stay married so maybe not.

5.     Perfume is everywhere, so is BO and cigarettes. A guy was even perfuming a furniture store. He was squeezing the little gold, bulbous air pump from the short crystal bottle as perfume spritzed all over a nice distressed, tan, leather sofa. Maybe somebody farted in the distressed, tan, leather sofa, but it was fascinating to watch. Deodorant is not an item that is imported to France. In 17 seconds your olfactory senses were attacked by a smelly man, smoking a pack of Lucky Strikes, bathed in Channel #4. Then a quick respite, lingerie store, smelly woman, smoking a pack of Lucky Strikes, bathed in Channel #5.

6.     Ashtrays in restaurants! How retro. When was the last time you saw a real, amber glass octagon ashtray with four indentations for cigarettes? Totally forgot what that was like, and frankly, I don’t miss the smoking in restaurants. 

7.     Paris is all about looking good and the artsy. There is a sophistication to Paris that I have not seen in any other big city. The closest city like Paris in America is San Francisco. Art is at every turn. A statue here, a hot club jazz band there, a bunch of people painting and thankfully, no mimes. Even the street people had a Benetton green, white and blue striped sweater with a snappy pair of designer jeans.

8.     Paris is expensive...again. Paris IS fun but for crying out loud, does every meal have to start at 50€? Oui! 

Our 60 Euro Breakfast Buffet....Sacre Blu!

 9.     Awesome walking city, the best in the world. Simply the best big city for walking anywhere. Plus, you sure as hell aren't going to drive on the streets. Pure chaos at a green light would not begin to explain the pandemonium at any corner. The good thing is that it is near impossible not to find something of interest. The eco-cabana on the Seine the lock bridge, the Arc Du Collosus at the Louvre  It should also be noted that Paris is the only city that wasn't bombed in World War II. The scars are seen in every European city except Paris. Walking, we would see the Obelisk, the cannon made of the 300 Cannons from the battle of Osterriech with Napoleon as a Roman Emperor on top. We walked 17 miles in one day (Lex is still kind of pissed). 

A Chinese artist. Had a bunch of cool sculptures.

The Lock Bridge...See our lock?

The Cannon Monument

The Obelisk...I like saying that word, Ahhhhhh Behhhh Lissssssssk.

It is the land of the perpetual post card.

The Arc De Triomphe

•  10.  Days start at 11 and go till whenever they feel like quitting. Dinner is typically at 8 and be prepared for a scrumptious meal to last 2 hours at a minimum. It takes some getting used to! I mean 8pm is when NCIS starts back home. 

Charismatic Megafauna - Time To Go

-13 this pre-sunrise Fairbanks morning and the song Charismatic Megafauna by the Ratfish Wranglers (a strummy Alaskan punk folk band - think Bare Naked Ladies crossed with the Vampire Beach Babes) is blaring within my cranium. 10 days ago I came to Fairbanks following in the steps of Jack London and the adventure of the Yukon Territory, today I leave 10 days later. I have new friends Jess, Murray, Johnny, Susan, Larry. Jameson and a closer friendship with my pal Marty. The 7 of us tacked the Northern Lights for 6 days and ate great.

One of the highlights was on the road to the Chena Hot Springs Resort. We had found a trappers cache, a sort of free standing tree house on stilts. It had a wooden ladder, moose antlers and a moose jaw at it's enterance. We wanted to use it as prop for the foreground of our photography. The cache was located in frontof the Angel Creek Lodge/Saloon. A log cabin that was a big rectangle, on the left was the bar, the right was the liqour store part. It had 9 bottles of booze. The customary pool table was on the right hand side while a tubular wood burning stove with a convection fan on top, was in the mid-left foreground.  Seka the tan white lab roamed the premises with a laconic ambling that reflected true ownership in the building. We stopped for a drink and to plot our next few hours. Some of us bellied up to the bar and got a Makers Mark bourbon or wine. We were the only people there and as we talked, laughed and grew into our seats we started to feel really comfortable. The bar was laden with tchochki momentos - antlers here, a cheesehead there, my favorite bumper sticker on the trip so far: "Eat Moose, 12,000 wolves can't be wrong!" all made it this lodge charmingly tacky.

Our waitress Maria made the room warmer. She was of a certain age or slightly older. She wore jeans and a gray Harley Davidson T-Shirt. A petite figure,dirty blond pulled back she made sure everyone was happy. Steve, owner and bartender, not the same. A 6 foot curmudgeon Steve, with a truckers hat, begrudgingly got us our drinks.Our team gelled and felt very comfortable together, much more comfortable than our suburban. We left Angel Creek feeling we should go back. We went to Chena Hot Springs and waited for a teammate to bath in the rejuvenating waters of Chena. We went to check out dinner at Chena and almost immediately called Angel Creek, "will you stay open for dinner for 7?" Curmudgeon Steve answered, "Are guys the old group or the young group." I guess he didn't like the younger group. We went back for burgers and had a blast. We would soldier on into the hours of the night where morning starts, taking pictures, but I think Angel Creek is one of my highlights.

The green dreamsicle.

Wafting across the way

The lights dancing into view.

Makers Mark - artificial heat!

Me by Murray

Marty & Murray enjoy a drink while Seka decides to recline wherever she wants.

On the road home from Angel Creek.

More from the icy road back.

Angel Creek Cabins under the lights

  

#1 Hot Photography Tip Learned

#1 Lesson learned last night: The photo will be dark if the lens cap is still on the camera. Talk about feeling like a total dunce. At least I didn't ask Jess how to "fix it". Last night was learning night though. We found a wonderfully secluded area that had a few different angles to shoot from. We were surrounded by giant pines except for an area that jutted out to a cliff, a mini-butte I guess (I've learned nature lingo!). There was also a small road to our right that had no one on it once we settled. I'm still learning obviously, but Jess our leader is the man. He's two for two. I'm ready for tonight, hoping for no clouds and more activity!

From the original spot. Some of my teammates are in the foreground.

On the Butte. The lights are just getting ready. They appear mystically and build.

The road to Valhalla.

Starry, Starry Night.

PS: These are with no post production - they will be done in a month or two.

Chasing Rainbows @ Night

"Meet us downstairs at 9:30!" came the call from Jess our 6'3", gray bearded, 220 pound leader. His maroon baseball hat protecting his wide eyes with crows feet etched by decades in the American Wilderness. Jess is laid back, but all business when it comes to photography. He knows that the prime time to catch the Aurora Bourealis is between 10:30pm and 2am. Experience, not science, taught our leader that.

I should be excited but I hit peak REM sleep 15 minutes before the call. So whatever energy I do have is devoted to putting on my Bass Pro long underwear, Smartwool socks, Columbia orange undershirt, Northface Green & Gray stripe crew neck fleece shirt. Then the thinsulate lined jeans, REI waterproof pants, and black Baffin boots. I have two jackets but I'm sweating like a preacher in a whorehouse. So I grab my gear and only put on one jacket. The reliable favorite Orvis field coat is in hand, on reserve.

Our team piles into the Suburban and pile is being generous. Pour might be a better word. Of the six teammates, none are of athletic build and half, myself included, are above average...in weight. We start driving into the black Alaskan abyss. Jess has a garmin GPS. He is reading it extemporaneously glancing at the icy road, the sky and the Garmin. At least our seat belts are fastened...most of us.

After forty minutes of navigation we get a tour bus behind us. Evidently, I'm told, this is not a good omen. Too many people, too much light, too much everything. We get to a parking lot and there are two buses, a Winnebego, three Ford Taurus' and us. The parking lot would continue to fill like my wineglass with a Girard Cabernet 

We get out, grab our equipment, and look up: A zillion stars. The few times there is no light from the parade of vehicles and photographers, the sky is brilliant. I'm looking at the Big Dipper and Cassiopea constellations with my new friend Johnny. I have never seen so many stars, so bright. The earth's jet black ink well just had some splash from a nearby glass of milk.

I try to set up my camera and Jess shows me what I'm doing wrong. He does have the patience of Job.Anyway, abuzz now circulates around the parking lot. My teammate Murray, who in his arctic gear looks like a shorter, red Michelin Man, says "Do you see it?" I'm like "?". "That" replies Murray.

A thin greenish ribbon cuts a swath through the midnight abyss. Then I look at his camera display and it hits me. The sky is beautiful but with a camera I can find a rainbow in the dark. A brilliant green ribbon with a red header knifes through the evening. I have found the Northern Lights. Photography illuminates the breath of God. I have found the rainbow at night.

The parking lot. The bright light below is Fairbanks about 45 miles away.

The Northern Lights. I'm still mastering my camera AND I haven't edited anything yet. Please be patient.

Inglorius Bastards: The Alaskan Huskie

50 pounds of prancing athlete, the Alaskan Huskie is the main breed for sledding. On their hind legs they come up to my chin and they love to play. In fact, as Jameson the Dog Musher put it, "These dogs only want to please and run." I have never been around more playful creatures in my life. If they are not playing they are running, and the dogs run with effortless abandon. While they are all roughly the same size, their coats vary, just like there lineage. Chubby has a black top coat with a brown undercoat. Otello, the elder father from Norway is pepper gray and powerful. Winnie and Winfred are all black except for white front legs. Off course there are few ivory white and tan dogs too. When the Alaskan Huskies are around, there are no whips or evil menacing of any type, just love.

I keep hearing how people are disappointed that they are not seeing the Siberians or Malamutes, of which the Huskie obviously owes there lineage. It's like being pissed that I could see Stevie Ray Vaughn and not Jimmi Hendrix. One Asian tourist actually graded down a dog sledding service on Tripadvisor.com because the dogs were too small, not what she expected or wanted. Honey, you're brain is too small! These are athletes that want to have fun, and incidentally, kick a Siberian's ass when it comes to speed. The Alaskan Huskie is the perfect American mutt: Fast and Fun. They may not get the glory, but they are uniquely ours! I used to want a Siberian dog as a child...I'll take an Alaskan Huskie any day of the week.

The Huskie TEAM - Athletes coming into the turn!

I have spent two afternoons at the International Championships here at Dog Mushing HQ.

Gratuitous Siberian pick - My Huskies above had a better time...these guys were confused from the start.

Picture This.....Heather!

I am in Alaska on photo safari and my good friend Heather pointed out that I hadn't posted any pictures. Last I night I took over 200 so I would like to edit before I show anything but...because I love Heather...here are a few:

My Team! Chubby can't wait to get started...like me!

Leaving the warm tropics for the Arctic Circle. Where's the red line from the globe?

Denali on the horizon.

Todd getting the Cessna ready to go back to Fairbanks. Where's the runway?

Coming out of a steep turn leaving Coldfoot.

My girlfriend Winnie in Coldfoot.

Indian Gil playing Harp on sushi...um frozen fish?

Same girl, only closer playing harp.

The Aliens are coming!

"Chief, the Greeks did take your land! We merely opened restaurants so you could eat!"

Not sure the first argument worked.

Driving the dogs mad. I would say "Mush!" and they would reply "Lose Weight!"

Heading into the narrow trail ahead.

So some pictures round one. I'll keep this stuff short so Heather can understand :)

Ice Ice Baby

Last night I saw a giant Cossack, a man conducting a symphony on a fish, stared down a Comanche with an arrow at my face, an alien sliding to earth and a matador taking on a bull, and I'm just getting started! All made of a single block of ice. It was the Ice Carving World Championships in Fairbanks and for two hours I walked through a crystal menagerie of frozen art. Imagine those glass blown figurines from the county fair now 10' tall.

Fairbanks has special ice I was told (personally I lost the recipe a few years ago) and so that why the championships are here. The biggest challenge is the weather hitting the 30s or above. On the giant sculptures you could see the effects of heat as tree had broken down and the tip of a menacing sword was missing.

People from all over the world competed here. All the competitors, from China, Russia, Poland, Norway, New Zealand, Portland, donated there time and built an amusement park for kids complete with long slides and cups to twirl in. Where was this when I was a kid? It was Christmas time all over again!